The Shadow and the Soul
by shalltheseboneslive
Summary: Post-Skyfall. Officially, Elizabeth Mallory is a liaison between the CIA and MI6. But when her husband is made the new M, he discovers the full extent of her work for the Agency. MalloryxOC.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The words echoed in her ears like a gunshot.

"_Your husband…appointed Head of MI6…Head of MI6…MI6…"_

Elizabeth threw her phone in her beige purse and sprinted out the door, locking the Mallory flat with trembling fingers. She ran down the stairs, clumsy in her high heels. The adrenaline roaring through her veins gave her energy and clouded her vision, making the run to her car and the drive to the MI6 building blur together. Q would be wondering why she hung up on him or perhaps not. Surely he could anticipate that upon such news she would be tearing down the road as fast as she could, hoping against hope that she would make it before her husband accessed her files to dig up the ghosts hidden insides. He had the proper authority for it now, from his lofty view as friend to the CIA and head of MI6. Somehow in her gut Elizabeth knew that she was already too late.

She roared up to the first security checkpoint and took a deep, gulping breath before rolling down the window and flashing a blinding white smile at the guard on duty. He looked skeptically at her proffered CIA credentials and security pass before waving her through.

"Keep it together," she muttered to herself, inhaling deeply through her nose. She swerved into the first available spot in the parking deck and took a moment to smooth down her honey-colored hair. Two security checkpoints later, she had undergone a retinal scan, had her badge examined under a black light, and had stripped off her trench coat and wedding ring for closer scrutiny. The woman in the cranberry-colored dress shot daggers at anyone who dared to look her way as she stood off to one side in the lobby, impatiently tapping the toe of one foot. The security officer took her time examining Elizabeth's things. The woman periodically glanced up at her through her bifocals and looked back down at her identification.

"I'm Elizabeth Mallory. I've been here before."

"Mm-hm."

"I'm M's wife. I'm here to see Q."

"I see."

"I've been in this building before, I work as a liaison between the Central Intelligence Agency and MI6"—

"So it says on the card."

Elizabeth felt a jolt white-hot anger sear through her while she stood off to the side of the MI6 security checkpoint. She rarely got mad but when she did…well. She carried no clout here, in this British-run agency, far from any Agency colleagues or even any Americans. The woman in front of her, sitting at a barstool and hunched over a tiny security desk, would decide whether Elizabeth got past the lobby. Meanwhile, her husband sat on the top floor and ran the place. After what seemed like an eternity the grumpy woman waved her through and Elizabeth collected her ring, bag, and coat and did her best not to sprint down to the computer laboratory.

When she looked into Q's office he was busy scratching his head with a mechanical pencil and staring off into space. Elizabeth had to bang one hand against the transparent glass door for him to notice her. He glanced down at his computer and let her into the office with the click of a mouse.

"Too late Liz," he said, with the sympathy of a doctor breaking a bad diagnosis, "He's already gotten into your computer files. All of 'em."

"Fuck."

"Fuck indeed," Q replied, "You'd better get up there."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Six years ago both of them had been rookies, Elizabeth shipped fresh from the CIA and Q pulled up from MI6's basic training. He helped her with computer work and she helped him get contacts within the Agency.

"Well," she said finally, smoothing a shaking hand down her dress, "Thank you for the information. I'd best be going."

"Godspeed," Q said wryly, and he stared at his keyboard to avoid looking into her eyes.

Elizabeth could count on one hand the number of times that she had been truly afraid. She was an experienced operative. No matter how many times it was said that courage was born of fear, Elizabeth knew better. To do her job, and do it well, she had to feel nothing but silence.

"_I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. I must not fear. I must not fear."_

She repeated it to herself like a mantra, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress and walking slowly out of Q's office and into the hallway. Gareth had no sooner sat down in M's chair than he'd begun cracking into her files, she just knew it. The thought was terrifying. More nerve-wracking than being shot at. Scarier than running from foreign police officers with blood splattered across her clothes. He'd know now, just as the former M knew, that her _real _job didn't consist solely of shaking hands with foreign agents.

She ran into the outer chamber of Gareth's office and the secretary, a lean, dark girl with steely eyes, jumped quickly out of her chair. Elizabeth knew that she looked like a lunatic with her hair out of place, breath coming in quick gasps. Her arm extended of its own accord and wordlessly handed the girl her credentials. The black woman's eyes widened.

"He's on the phone with someone from Langley now, ma'am. I"—

Without further introduction Elizabeth lunged for the door. Miraculously it wasn't locked. When she yanked it open and strode into the middle of M's sparsely-decorated office, the sight that greeted her would have been anticlimactic to any other observer. Gareth sat quietly behind a desk, scribbling notes onto a pad in front of him. A stack of black file folders rested at his elbow. Elizabeth stood, wringing her hands as he muttered into his earpiece. For a few moments silence reigned. Soon Gareth tapped the headset with his pen and raised his head to meet her gaze.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice so frigid that it sent a shiver up her spine.

He touched the earpiece again and resumed his muttering to the person on the other line. Gareth didn't look away from Elizabeth until she walked forward and stiffly lowered herself into the chair across from his desk, sitting ramrod straight on the edge. Her heart knocked against her chest. Gareth ended his conversation with a curt "That's all of it. Goodbye," before removing the earpiece and tossing it on his desk.

Elizabeth couldn't move. She could feel the angry energy radiating off of her husband as if it were a tangible force. With shaking hands, Elizabeth twisted her wedding ring around her finger and numbly watched him stare into her eyes. She did not want to see the result of his journey into the black CIA files, a journey that would have brought him face to face with all of the skeletons in her closet. Gareth slid his free hand under the lip of his desk, his gaze never leaving hers. He pressed a hidden button under his desk and she heard the lock on the door give an audible click.

Elizabeth Mallory, professional killer, stared into her husband's cold green eyes and was afraid.

**Author's Note: **Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! Also, the title will be explained in one of the upcoming chapters. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

_Six years earlier_

She jogged at a steady, even pace along the running trail, regulating her breath at four counts in, four counts out. Elizabeth could feel her sloppy bun working itself loose from the ponytail holder she'd put it in, though her stride was too good for her to stop and fix it. The light tapping of her black tennis shoes echoed quietly in the empty park. It was early, perhaps 6 a.m. or a little before. Elizabeth's phone jostled in the band of her shorts but she didn't bother checking the time. She could count the laps in Battersea Park and know when she had to leave.

It was fortunate that the MI6 building was a mere two miles away from the park. _"Start thinking in meters," _she said to herself, attempting the conversion in her head. Her work building's proximity to the park allowed her to run in peace during the early part of the morning before she went in every day. Running did wonders for her nerves, which had been rubbed raw during the first three days of her employment.

Elizabeth was roused out of her own thoughts when she heard footsteps on the path ahead of her. The early morning light was growing stronger and around the curve came another jogger clad in black. He glanced toward her and they locked eyes as a flash of recognition went through her. She knew him from somewhere, from the blur of men in suits she had seen upon her arrival in London. As one of the CIA's liaisons, everyone wanted a piece of her, even if she was supposed to be present exclusively for MI6, and she'd been in more buildings than she cared to count. The 24-year-old spent half of her day at orientation sessions and the other half meeting more and more people she was sure she'd never keep track of. The person who had breezed past her at a steady clip was just another one she had seen.

But who was he? She finished her last lap and jogged a few feet off of the path to one of the public water fountains to take a quick drink. Elizabeth was still absorbed in her internal musing when she sensed a presence behind her.

"You have a tell."

She did her best not to spin around and immediately assume a defensive posture. When Elizabeth casually turned and smoothed a hand over her hair she was glad she'd managed to restrain herself.

"Pardon?"

"You recognized me from somewhere."

"I suppose so," Elizabeth replied warily, "Have we met?"

"Not properly. Gareth Mallory. The PM's assistant pointed you out to me. You're the American."

Elizabeth wiped her hand on her shorts and stuck it out to shake his proffered hand. She already didn't like this Gareth Mallory person. He was handsome and taller than her, but if he insisted on pointing things out like he did and calling her "The American" (even with his nice accent) she wasn't going to like him. When he shook her hand his grip was firm but not overly so. Some men tried to break Elizabeth's fingers, either out of habit or as a show of dominance, but this one didn't. She liked him a little more.

"I'm Elizabeth Watson."

"Fresh from Langley."

"Yes. I'm the new liaison to MI6."

"I see."

He glanced toward the east, squinting into the rising sun, and back at her. Suddenly Elizabeth was self-conscious of her running attire, a simple tank top and Nike shorts. She probably looked like a sloppy college student, and in her position she couldn't afford to be seen as a juvenile.

"Carry on then," he said with a nod toward the main road, "Wouldn't want to keep you."

"Thank you, Mr. Mallory. And I'll keep in mind what you said. I'll try to tone down my facial expressions in case I venture into the field or take up a career in politics."

She grinned up at him and, for the first time since their interaction, an expression that was almost a smile crept across his face.

"See that you do," he replied crisply, giving her a final nod before she turned and jogged away.

After breakfast and a shower, she arrived at the MI6 orientation room and slid in her chair, next to the boy she'd made friends with on the first day. Everyone in the large classroom had a sleeping computer in front of them, and most of the other agents were staring glassy-eyed at the woman lecturing to them at the front of the room. Not Tom. He was typing furiously, his fingers moving in an impossible blur over the keyboard. The lecturer at the front pulled down a screen and projected a cross-sectional image of the MI6 building onto it before beginning her speech about fire-exits. Elizabeth looked at her acquaintance's screen once again. He'd already cracked the lecturer's files and was rifling through them, presumably to see if there was anything interesting. The security locks on the MI6 computers were probably child's play to someone like him.

"_Tom," _Elizabeth hissed, glancing over at the black-haired boy beside her, _"Tom."_

"Yeah?" He whispered, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

"Can you pull up someone's file for me?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of tinkering with this."

"If you can't do it that's fine," she said with a shrug, "I totally understand. Everyone has their limits"—

"What's the name?" He replied, immediately closing his command prompt window before looking at her expectantly.

"Gareth Mallory," she replied, her tone low.

They sat at the very back of the room and from their vantage point could get away with murder. They'd mostly paid attention to the lecture on the first day, but when Tom had started fiddling with his computer it was all downhill from there. They probably didn't need to know where the fire exits were anyway.

"Who's this Mallory person anyway?" Tom asked, raising an eyebrow, "Not a field agent, is he?"

"Of course not," Elizabeth replied, "Field agents are the worst. I met him and I want to know more about him, that's all. For work."

She felt a stab of what could have been described as guilt but she stamped it down. She knew of Tom's dislike for field agents and she wasn't supposed to tell him anything about her extra assignments anyway. While she waited for him to locate Gareth's file she adjusted her black skirt and matching jacket. She would have preferred to have met him like this, with makeup on and her hair coiffed into a sleek bun, so that she could present a more professional image.

"Here he is. Hm…looks like he works for the PM, he's been on a few committees. Formerly in the British Army…not much else…He'll be 39 in a couple of months."

Elizabeth craned her neck to look at Tom's monitor. The computer file showed a grainy, obviously candid, shot of Gareth Mallory, one eyebrow arched as he looked somewhere off camera.

"Well," Tom continued squinting at the screen, "Looks like another brown-haired, blue-eyed, English politician to me."

"Green," she said quietly, a smile creeping across her features, "His eyes were green."

**Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and following this story! For the record, I'm an American and that's why I chose to write this from an American point of view. I don't know the proper English terms for anything so please forgive me if the way I write about things seems odd. Also, in case you're wondering, Tom is Q. They didn't give him a name in Skyfall so I just assigned him one myself. I figured that six years ago, he would be just another new recruit in the MI6 R&D department. As always, reviews and constructive criticism is [i]highly[/i] appreciated. **


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